


To Our Last Dyin' Day

by PeterPanini



Category: West Side Story (1961)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 13:55:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7760389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeterPanini/pseuds/PeterPanini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riff and Bernardo both survive the rumble just long enough to have a short discussion. What are their final words to each other going to be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Our Last Dyin' Day

**Author's Note:**

> Just a one-shot I couldn't get out of my head. I pictured this happening after the rumble, once Tony and Anybodys have left but with a small break before the police arrive.

The ground was cold. That was the first thing Riff thought when he came back to himself. It was cold and hard against his face. It hurt. His chest hurt, too. He couldn’t remember why. Wait… it was something… loud. A fight. With who?  
Something was touching his ankle. He tried to turn over and see what it was but his body wasn’t listening. Everything seemed dim and cool.  
He was having trouble breathing. Each inhale was painful, like when Krupke’s nightstick would poke at his chest, but worse. He heard a sound behind him and finally managed to turn his head, just enough to see the other person on the ground. It wasn’t Tony, though, and Riff faintly felt glad.  
It was Bernardo. Riff remembered suddenly what had happened. There was a fight, and Bernardo had stabbed him with a hidden, sudden knife. Riff had seen something like shock in his eyes as he fell away onto the ground.  
Now Bernardo was hurt, too, maybe even dead. It must have been one of the Jets, probably Action. Maybe Tony. Bernardo wasn’t dead, Riff could see he was still breathing, but barely. His eyes were closed, but he was still alive.  
“Hey…” Riff tried to get his attention but his voice was weak, his lungs wanting to slow and stop. “Hey…”  
Bernardo’s eyes slid open, clouded, but they focused on him.  
“You’re not dead,” he said quietly, his voice soft and pained. His accent was almost unnoticeable.  
“You… neither.” Riff could do nothing to raise his head, could do nothing to stop the pain, could only lay on his belly and see his fiercest foe.  
“I didn’t… I didn’t mean…” Bernardo seemed to be trying to say something, but couldn’t figure out how to say it. Riff wasn’t sure how but he understood. Perhaps that’s what happened when you were dying.  
“You know…” Riff said softly, coughing a bit and tasting blood on his tongue. “I don’t know… why we fought.” He looked to Bernardo, who was listening intently. “Do you?”  
Bernardo’s breathing was labored, his chest slowly heaving.  
“Because I was… different from you,” he responded. “Because…” He seemed to run out of words.  
Riff considered his statement. His eyes felt heavy. He wanted to sleep.  
“it’s funny…” he tried to smile but couldn’t remember how. “I never… wanted you dead. I just… I didn’t know what to do… It was all a game…” Riff trailed off.  
“Just a game…” Bernardo repeated. “And now we are here.”  
“Yeah. Huh.” Riff could hear sirens in the distance. Good old Krupke to the scene. Too late this time.  
“For what it’s worth,” he rasped out, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I didn’t want it to go… so far.” His breathing was punctured by spaces just as his ribs had been punctured by the knife.  
Bernardo’s eyes slid shut, then opened again. He seemed to be in the same state.  
“I… understand.” He paused again, coughing. Blood trickled from his mouth. Riff watched it, knowing he looked very much the same.  
“And…” Bernardo continued, “I… accept your… apology.” His eyes slid shut and for a moment Riff thought he was dead. Then they opened again.  
“Lo siento,” Bernardo said. Riff didn’t know what he meant. He could venture a guess.  
Riff was feeling strangely light. He studied the other dying boy. He focused on his hand, his cold hand laying on the pavement, and slowly forced it to move towards Bernardo. He reached as far as he could go and turned his palm up.  
Bernardo watched, still. then his hand jerkily moved away from his wound and his fingers slipped into Riff’s. A bloody, final handshake.  
Each retreated their hands back, though Riff’s would go no farther than a few inches.  
“Do you think,” he said after a second. “We could have been friends?”  
Bernardo looked at him, his eyes unfocused, unmoving.  
“Bernardo?” Riff breathed.  
The sirens were louder, but Riff no longer heard them. The pavement was cold beneath his cheek. So cold. He would just close his eyes for a bit.  
His chest didn’t hurt anymore.


End file.
